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12th stage: Pedrouzo-Santiago de Compostela (23 km trails, tot. 299, hours of travel 6-11.30).

I've done it. On 18 August I finally reached the conclusion rambling of my trip. The last leg of the journey of Santiago as if made to bring a little 'abruptly pilgrims in this world where you are temporarily absent (who only twelve days, like me, who for forty or more). And here I open a parenthesis: it's a strange feeling, at least for me, not to receive news about the world if only for a few days. And in my case the information was almost complete isolation, because when I used to eat at a bar or restaurant where there was a TV on, and always sent only Olympic events. I heard that the Russians had invaded Georgia from a sms from my brother, but the bar is still quietly watching a tennis match, and the paucity of my English did not allow me to apologize, war broke out, can change the channel? In short, if in these twelve days (sixteen, counting two to Barcelona and two travel to Italy) there was another September 11 I would not have noticed. Effect? not so bad. I have in mind what Oscar Wilde said: It is sad to note that nowadays are so few information. Few in relative terms, not absolute. Because now we have all the information we want, but the vast majority are false or unnecessary. And I knew this already, but I felt better walking through deserts and forests. Closed in parentheses.
I said the pilgrim returning abruptly in the world, leaving Pedrouzo you through a eucalyptus forest, surrounded by complete darkness and scent. Then the poem gives way to the highway, airport and the outskirts. Once out of the woods (it must have been seven in the morning) I met a distinguished gentleman who was stationed there to intercept the pilgrims and provide beds in a retirement center. Welcome back to reality.
(Oh, by the way, I refused just because I had already booked the day before the board cheaper than Santiago. I know it's inconsistent with the spirit of a pilgrim, but after the incident I did not want to get Melide the goal after three hundred miles and having to make the rounds of the seven churches before finding a bed.)
past the industrial zone, accompanied by the sound of traffic, finally arriving in the old city, which is a gem, and one can see the peaks of Cathedral, which is a wonder. There, now the journey is done.
God, took a horn. After a couple of days of tourism in the company of two Romans found to retirement, I started my little odyssey. And it is true that every trip teaches you something: the trip to Turin Santiago taught me not to mock those compatriots encountered along the way, who took back TGV from Madrid to Paris and made the exchange. For sure it took less time than me thirteen hours by bus from Santiago de Compostela in Irun, where you take the train to pass and reach the French border in Hendaye, four and a half hours by train from Toulouse to Hendaye, another six hours of train from Toulouse to Nice, and the prospect of spending the night at the station for ten minutes because I miss the last train to reach Turin in the evening.
I do not know what I mean.
August 20, 2008, approximately 13 hours. Are returned from twelve days of running, 300 miles driven, I carry around a backpack that weighs a fifth of me, last night I spent in buses, and the risk of being next in the waiting room of the station in Nice . At this point Providence, which had to Arzua taken the form of three Irish girls, decides to again give me a hand written on the form of an electronic scoreboard at the station of Toulouse: the train stops at Montpellier to Nice, Marseille, Toulon, St. Raphael , Cannes and Antibes. I vaguely remember hearing that a friend of mine has a house in Antibes, and my friend, should be contacted, please note that in Antibes, in addition to the house, two ancestors that may provide the key to that. I'm safe.
Antibes is a town on the Riviera, a charming tourist and unequivocally. Yet used up early on as a pilgrim, I stroll in the early morning when the vendors prepare stalls with all kinds of junk. There's nothing more amazing than watching crap how many are for sale. Indeed, something so: to think that if someone sells them, sooner or later someone else will buy. Maybe it was really
Providence will I break or educational purposes, to teach the moral of the story. And the moral is that it's funny, after traveling for a couple of weeks strictly following the philosophy of the essential, return to the world of the superfluous. The holidays are just over.

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Santiago and return from one day to the Santiago

11th stage: Arzua-Pedrouzo (20 km trails, tot. 276, 6:30 to 11:30 hours of travel).

Alla fine ieri sera mi ha salvato la Provvidenza sotto forma di tre ragazze irlandesi molto cattoliche che dormivano in stanza con me (che fossero molto cattoliche l'ho dedotto dal fatto che si portavano dietro la Bibbia, che qualunque pellegrino dalla fede non incrollabile considera un libro mirabile, ma troppo pesante nel senso fisico del termine). Mi hanno salvato non annunciandomi la salvezza, ma con un asciugacapelli che, alla bisogna, si è trasformato in un asciugasaccoapelo, almeno quanto basta per non dormire nell'umido.
Stamattina ho attraversato un bosco prima dell'alba: esperienza quasi mistica che mi ha riconciliato con Dio, con gli uomini e persino con il santo per colpa del quale non I could spend the night in Melide. The weather has held up well, allowing me to get safely to dry and the last stop before Santiago: a comfortable haven to share with other 119 people, cold shower and a new meeting with the Venetian that I was released with a clever tactical move on top of Ligonde.
In the bed next to mine is a lady who gasps: it reminds me that in the last stage of the journey see different plaques and little encouragement to pilgrims, dedicated to those poor souls who died on the road or soon after arrival. Before the memory of them, the pious pilgrims will mark a murmur and eternal rest. Those agnostics indulge in a more secular apotropaic gesture.

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ducha sigue!

10th stage: Eirexe-Arzua (35 km trails, tot. 256, hours of washing 6-15).

When they tell you that in Galicia there is an Atlantic climate, do not be fooled dall'eufemismo. In Galicia there is a climate of shit. Since I am here I have not seen the sun for more than fifteen minutes in a row.
After a restless sleep and repeatedly interrupted by a English girl (in this regard see what was written yesterday, by amending paragraph 4: "do not go to Santiago in a group and do not carry brats"), after a night of little rest, I said, this morning I get up early with the intention to 22 km up to Melide. It's raining. Sometimes it rains hard. Insufficient extension of my k-way, which is not enough to cover me and my backpack, plus the spectacular failure of a system for anchoring a sleeping bag, I fell again and it opens. What comes to Melide Mox is a soggy, and not in a good mood.
It still does not know that waits another surprise: a Melide is a feast day for whatever fucking patron saint, the Alberg is full (see why i hate the real pilgrims pseudopellegrini the last hundred miles?) And pensions is not the place to pay even gold. Note that when I get to Melide are not only soaked, almost empty stomach: stomach I have a bagel, a croissant and a caffelatte. Ma non ho scelta, devo proseguire fino al prossimo rifugio che si trova, escludendo hotel e pensioni a prezzi non popolari, a 12 km. Altre tre ore di cammino prima di poter mangiare un panino con tortilla, lavarmi, crollare sfinito e constatare quant'è bagnato all'interno il sacco a pelo.
Per la cronaca, è tanto bagnato.
Mancano una quarantina di chilometri a Santiago.

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licit and illicit

9a tappa: Portomarin-Eirexe (?) (km percorsi 18, tot. 221, ore di viaggio 7-11.30).

Tappa breve per riprendere fiato, perché nessuno mi corre dietro, e soprattutto per evitare una comitiva di ventisette - dico twenty-seven - Veneto whom I met yesterday and are likely to find in Palas de Rei. They are the living examples of all the defects of which I wrote yesterday, and they do have a few more. So they do not back out of the way I stopped in a village of campaign so improbable that there is no certainty even about the name, which could be Eirexe or Ligonde. The only two certainties are: manure and flies.
interesting meetings now are more rare than in Castile (the pensioner who made Reunion 1300 km on foot, the French boy who wants to get back from Santiago to Rome, the Polish Guccini, the Hungarian therapist that has vowed to silence ...), but every now and then captain. I found a boy di Varese che è partito da Logro ño e condivide la mia ostilità verso gli pseudopellegrini degli ultimi cento chilometri. Ci siamo accordati sui seguenti principi fondamentali:
1) negli albergues dovrebbe essere proibito prenotare;
2) c'è chi, per camminare leggero, spedisce il bagaglio col taxi e lo recupera alla fine della tappa. Per viaggiare così, tanto vale fare una passeggiata al parco sotto casa senza venire a rompere i coglioni ai pellegrini affollando il sentiero e i rifugi;
3) la carriola invece sfrutta una tecnologia antichissima, riduce ma non elimina lo sforzo e quindi è un mezzo lecito;
4) a Santiago non si va in comitiva.

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8th stage: Sarria-Portomarin (23 km trails, tot. 203, 6:30 to 12:30 hours of travel). Step

not prohibitive, but after 37 km yesterday and the night train has become an ordeal. The fatigue of travel days that accumulate, causing pain in all joints as possible, add the impact of the notorious pilgrims in the last hundred miles. To see a bit 'of Galicia I chose to start from Sarria, it is the last town accessible by road and train because they are sure to be in Santiago within a week. I had to imagine that my idea was not entirely original. Sarria is
about 112 km from the destination, and 100 km is precisely the minimum distranza who has to walk to get the Compostela, a document attesting to the place of pilgrimage and that someone should take account on the Day of Judgement. I do not know much about these things, but I formed the idea that the day will be a sort of traffic jam at the toll booth, and who has made the pilgrimage will be the spiritual equivalent of a Telepass. Now I really want to clarify, for the avoidance of doubt, that the Compostela hauls me a very limited extent (I'll take it and put it aside because you never know, always better to be covered also from that point of view). In truth you can not even say that I'm doing the Camino de Santiago, that is a route of 800 km, from Saint Jean and does not provide step by train. My intention was to go for a walk, my time to two weeks between screening tests and more. So I thought I'd take a walk along the route of the pilgrims for two lines, one in Castile-Leon and the other in Galicia, for a total of about 300 km. That's all.
When I saw the difference between the pilgrims met in Castile and these proceedings, I was not shocked at the lack of sense of the sacred in seconds. I was simply disappointed by the dramatic increase in the average rate of vulgarity. The former are pilgrims, tourists are the second (more negative in the sense that it can be attributed to the term). Just to clarify the difference, Pilgrims are more reflective, more original, more cordial, more civilized and more motivated (I told the workers that spend their holiday walking and then they go back to work refreshed beautiful factory. There is little to be added); tourists caciaroni are, newly arrived in Sarria go in the first shop to buy the club with attached shell and caciotta hairpieces, travel sang songs of Laura Pausini, you do the photos of smiling next to posters with symbols of the way, leave their garbage passage, sometimes not even greet, book the place in the shelters and then complain if you do not have the comfort of the hotel Hilton. They tend to have the air in search of petty di imprese da raccontare agli amici, alcuni sembra che vedano il cammino come una gara. Ci sono molte famigliole e (ahimé) moltissimi italiani. Non ne ho incontrato nessuno che sia capace di viaggiare da solo. Quasi nessuno tiene un diario.
Spero di aver reso l'idea.
Nota positiva: il paesaggio della Galizia è più bello e variegato della Meseta. Portomarin è un paese grazioso e lo visiterei volentieri, se riuscissi ancora a muovermi.

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pilgrims and tourists the time that went into Mox

7a tappa: El Burgo Ranero-Léon (km percorsi 37, tot. 180, ore di viaggio 5.30-14).

Dopo una serie di tappe brevi per concedere tregua alle caviglie, giornata di marcia Forced to reach Leon, where they entered the monastery. But I left right away, do not worry.
Coming from the Tierra de Campos, which take longer to pronounce the name of a country to cross, Leon seems like a metropolis. The pilgrim is not used to bus, train station, parks, roads, traffic ... The Plaza Regla is invaded by a horde of travelers who and turned in for an afternoon tourists, echo the cathedral from all angles.
The crossing of the city is badly reported and I lose it now, but Providence makes me meet the woman of Lodi that guides me all'albergue in the Benedictine monastery. A woman greets me and tells me fraternally with the rules of the shelter: Mass at 19, blessed with 21, closing the door at 21.30, breakfast at 6 am, leave for 8. The spiritual part is not mandatory, but it still makes me uneasy. And then the dormitory is one of the most filthy I have encountered since the beginning of the journey.
Tonight at 2:04 I take the train to Sarria and from there walk for about another week in Galicia, where they provide a less monotonous landscape and a capricious climate. Beautiful quiet, the solitude, the sublime landscape and so on, but I'd had enough of Mesetas. will spend the night between the station and the train. I know this is an exception to the rule, but the Lord will understand.

White Fuild Before Period

a small monastery in the Far West Babel

6th stage: Sahagun-El Burgo Ranero (16 km trails, tot. 143, 6.30-11 hours of travel).

must learn to accept their limitations. After just 140 km my tendons are already calling for mercy, and I do not want anybody tells you that they are ruthless. A little 'idiot, but not ruthless.
note: the backpack weighs a fifth of me.
It enriches the gallery of characters: Yesterday a nice lady from Lodi, extroverted and polyglot, he told me among other things that the girl is very talkative, just to be unlikely, a therapist Hungarian. In return I will have proved what I had read on its shell, that has taken a vow of silence.
Iera evening instead had dinner with a textile worker from Bergamo who has read the 'Nicomachean Ethics and, depending on the availability of leave, makes the journey in three parts: the last summer from St. Jean to Burgos, since this year where can you get in Galicia, next year comes to an end. And this morning another worker
Lombard, this time of Varese. This has nothing particularly unusual, except that it has covered 53 km yesterday. I today I gave up after 16, already shaky, and the incredulous hospitalera (an old woman who has turned his home into a refuge Pilgrim) scolded me on my reading Credencial coming from Sahagun, "Sahagun ¿? ¡Muy little."
'Sti cocks lady, I told her the shelter of a strong language barrier.

Appendix at 15:15.
El Burgo Ranero seems, in the name and appearance, the ghost town of a western movie. Old dilapidated houses with wooden doors that creak in the wind, rolling bales of hay in the distance (I swear). Like the other villages of Castilla y León, is located in the yellow fields and lives of welcome to pilgrims. Come to think is very interesting: a series of remote villages survive thanks to the fact that every year hundreds of thousands of lunatics walking along the same route as the ninth century that hundreds of thousands of travel for 813 crazy crazy thought he had discovered the tomb of the apostle James.
That seems so simplistic, I know. I do not want to belittle the symbolic value, the sense of the sacred and the like. It was just to say how funny life. This
albergue I particularly like, is like being at home (and sleep in fifteen, with only one bathroom). The guests are all strangers from various sources: Denmark, Poland, Australia, Germany, France. As an Italian I'm the one who should understand better what hospitalera says. Hence the paradox that, with that little 'I learned English in schools medie, mi trovo a fare da interprete fra persone che parlano lingue a me ignote.
Lo ripeto: quant'è buffa la vita.

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the stars are watching. Well? never seen one that is four steps?

5a tappa: Calzadilla de la Cueza-Sahagun (km percorsi 24, tot. 127, ore di viaggio 5.30-12).

Il bello di questi paesini sprofondati nel nulla è lo spettacolo del cielo notturno. Prima dell'alba ho visto sette stelle cadenti, e per ognuna ho espresso lo stesso desiderio.

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4a tappa: Villalcazar de Sirga-Calzadilla de la Cueza (km percorsi 23, tot. 103, ore di viaggio 6.30-13).
find two people more absurd to me, both female. A pilgrim is five months pregnant traveling alone, and the other has taken a vow of silence to Santiago de Compostela. I'm beginning to believe that in this region of Spain to concentrate a large amount and great variety of interesting clinical cases, and perhaps this is the essence of religion. E 'reductionist interpretation, but not entirely unfounded.
stage not long but equally challenging: after Carrion de los Condes, in front of the pilgrim is seventeen kilometers have nothing. Nothing but golf, tennis, golf and a vast plain under the sun. The only presence umana, a parte i poveri disgraziati in cammino, si incontra più o meno a metà di questa tratta. Un furgoncino-bar gestito dall'equivalente moderno delle bande di briganti che nel Medioevo depredavano i pellegrini e che a sua tempo furono debellate da Riccardo Plantageneto. I predoni odierni si appostano nel deserto e ti vendono una mela a un euro.

Post scriptum: quando Dio creò la Castilla y Léon doveva essere a corto di fantasia.

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tierra y mosquitos

3a tappa: Itero de la Vega-Villalcazar de Sirga (km percorsi 29, tot. 80, ore di viaggio 6-13.45).

Speravo di aver perso il vicentino in una deviazione dopo Fromista, orrendamente segnalata da una freccia ad ogni chilometro. Purtroppo ha ritrovato la strada e mi ha raggiunto a Villasirga dopo un paio d'ore dal mio arrivo.
Ora non so se sono io che ho già esaurito le energie creative, o se semplicemente la Tierra de Campos è la più inutile e monotona su cui l'uomo abbia mai messo piede. Il paesaggio presenta un'alternanza di campi gialli ed altri campi gialli, seguiti da campi gialli (interrotti qua e là da qualche campo giallo). A volte, dopo dieci chilometri di nulla si incontra un paesino che dopo 200 metri è già finito. Diciamo che questa regione della Spagna non è ospitale, a meno che tu non sia una mosca. Appendice delle ore 21.
Mangiato la peggior bistecca della mia vita e, forse, della storia dell'umanità. Era dai tempi della scoperta del fuoco che l' homo sapiens non mangiava una carne così cruda. Finirla è stata l'equivalente alimentare di arrivare fino in fondo al cammino di Santiago. Quanto a forza di volontà, prometto bene.

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climb

2a tappa: Hontanas-Itero de la Vega (km percorsi 21, tot. 51, ore di viaggi o 7-12.30).

Cos'è che dicevo a proposito dei pochi italiani? pare che per oggi si siano dati appuntamento nel rifugio di La Vega. Tra questi spicca un vecchio vicentino che ha tentato spudoratamente to socialize, when I spoke to him I will respond with the standard phrase No hablo español, no Entiendo .
It is not an excuse, you just do not understand what it says.
stage rather heavy, even though I did a few kilometers. After you climb up high to Castrojeriz Mosterales, where the slope of the deadly effort to add the nagging sense of inferiority in front of a Polish boy who climbs like nothing had happened, listening to Guccini Amerigo. But in the end is a great satisfaction to contemplate the vast solitude of 1200 meters Mesetas.
are only on the second day, but already is being felt hard and leads to the synthesis. A few scattered observations:
- there are shelters and other less pleasant, but after a day of walking around here all seem to dump a five-star hotels;
- my driving is two years ago and since then inflation has hit also the way to Santiago. In times of economic crisis is not taking Christ;
- my guide was written by a madman. Hermitage of San Nicol as, refurbished by the Confraternity of St. James, says that absolutely must go. It 'an old-style hut with no running water or electricity. What more do you want from life after walking for twenty miles?
- Shampoo sachets which can be found at the hotel is one of the biggest scams in history. I
hard days ahead.

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first stage: Burgos-Hontanas (30 km routes, hours of travel 8-13 and 14-17.30).
Arrival in Burgos to indecent hour of the morning, with no hope of finding bars open for breakfast. I rest on a bench waiting for dawn (I left last night from Barcelona and I spent the night in train), and when I wake up is exactly the right light to photograph the cathedral. Then intercept shells and arrows and start my own little way. The Mesetas have a long line of barren plateaus, monotonous, semi-deserted and beautiful. Lacking more than a fortnight I decided to start from here, giving up to the Pyrenees and Navarra. It was a desert that I needed, and I'm served.
Then of course, could also be more careful and not begin with a stop from 30 km, I was not even a veteran of the pilgrimage. Oddly, the feet are bear signs of devastation, only a couple of blisters. But chances are good that tomorrow I wake up with a tendonitis of the Madonna, just to stay on topic.
First Impressions: few foreigners, on the way to meet present predominantly indigenous. I came across a group of Italians that rested on Hornillos, but after a few minutes after my arrival did I get a bus and uploaded them. I am a Spaniard and we looked a bit 'surprised. When I said that God so you remember, maybe did not understand all the words but he understood the meaning.
Since I am going on holiday so preposterous, it is good that way you can understand it too. The question I have made many: Mox, why do the Camino de Santiago? And, depending on inspiration, I answered each time in a different way: I go for a walk, I want to find God and they told me that here there is something to sell, do not have a license, I have nothing be done in August, an indulgence is always helpful; I ate Chinese last year and four steps will help me to finish digesting. All good reasons, but in itself insufficient. The real reason is the same that led me to Trent: I felt the need to introduce a minimum of randomness and unexpected in my life.
And here starts the rant.
The highest aspiration of the bourgeois middle (sorry to the nearest, but this is a damn blog, not a treatise on sociology), for the holiday like life, is organized package, the all-inclusive: you know where you are, where eat, where to stay, what to see. The great enemy in the holiday as in life, is the unexpected in all its forms: the flight overbooked, the restaurant already complete, the apartments that proves to be a dump, the city sucks. The unexpected changes in the vacation time lost, that is a waste of money: a valuable investment and financial chronological went up in smoke.
So that's exactly what I do not want to become. The only antidote was known more or less from the goal, but with a vague idea of \u200b\u200bhow to get there and when, and even vaguer idea of \u200b\u200bhow to get back. Anyone who is handy low-cost know that a return ticket should always seemed a nice gesture to start with a single ticket, then we'll see.
I admit, my wandering is not a proper. The path is well marked and you can not lose (the real traveler can get lost, it will eventually lose), and in almost all the villages there are restaurants and lodges for pilgrims. Ultimately, the only uncertain variable truly is my strength, my ability to get to a place or ten miles ahead at the end of the day. It 'a little, but that's something. It 's like the difference between traveling on the highway and climb up a path. My path is more like a trip to a resort. It is not adventure, but it is not just a holiday. E 'walk for a few hundred kilometers from time to time discovering what awaits me. And 'experience.
Relations with other pilgrims when we meet we exchange a "hola" and a "buen camino". Difficult to get past, at least while it is running. The breath should be kept for the primary objective. In my case there is also the language barrier, and I noticed that the English have two special characteristics: 1) worse than the Italian average, speak English (there is) 2) do not understand that Italian and English are two different languages. When they ask me something I say "no hablo español ," to which I repeated the same question at the same speed and with the same words.
maybe in a week or two beg desperately for a human touch, even of humanity as the minimum my roommate (an exaggeration, mind you), but for now I'm happy that exchanges with other travelers merely a word and a smile. The only exception, I had dinner tonight with such a Maxim Lamarque, sixty-two years, retired bank, based in Reunion. E 'on the road since 8 April, has made the route Saint-Jean Santiago and then took the way back on foot, with the authentic spirit of the medieval pilgrim. At the height of the willing as our pathetic attempts at communication (he does not speak English, I do not speak French), I wrote on a napkin, trend albergues and a restaurant in Santiago.
long before I conclude this diary entry with a couple of well known service: Anyone want to venture into the journey, will do well 1) to get used to cold showers (I say literally, not as a metaphor for the terror that takes the walker when it finds a restaurant with a "pilgrim's menu" at 25 €) and 2) to adopt a policy flexibility to determine the ideal boundary between a pair of soiled underwear and a pair of clean underwear.